


Not Gonna Die Tonight

by InterferingSpeedbump



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, Skillet (Band), ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 | JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, I wrote this for a school assignment, If you only read one work by me, Notice me senpai, and I got a prefect score yay, dio dies, hetalia and JoJo's Bizarre Adventure crossover, im actually really proud of this, read this one, there are skillet references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 21:39:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10772979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InterferingSpeedbump/pseuds/InterferingSpeedbump
Summary: Berwald only wanted to find who killed his little brother. He didn't know it would drag him into a centuries old rivalry between two powerful bloodlines.





	Not Gonna Die Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Please listen to these songs, I picked them as the theme songs for this story. Thanks!  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8XGtsz03X48 Not Gonna Die by Skillet  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=31TATQ2mm3w What I Believe by Skillet

Berwald breathed in the crisp night air. His footsteps crunched in the snow. He grasped his phone as it played Skillet music, which always calmed him down after fights with Mathias. He was just glad his baby brother wasn’t there when he and Mathias were fighting. Mathias, in all the infinite wisdom of 17 years of life, apparently knew all of the truths of the world, which often set off fights. And Berwald, at the ripe old age of 14, supposedly knew the truths of the world that Mathias didn’t.  
He fumed silently as he picked up his pace, his feet crunching louder on the snow as he went to retrieve his eight year old brother from his playtime with Charlotte and Romeo. His thoughts drifted away as they often did, thinking about things he wouldn’t remember 30 minutes from now. He often thought of his homeland in Sweden. His family had moved from Sweden to America when he was just 11. Mathias was 14 at the time and Peter was five. Berwald’s brothers could always make friends and fit in easily, but Berwald always felt like an awkward rock. Kids that weren't scared of him would always make fun of his accent, causing him to develop a tendency to mumble when he spoke, as he was self-conscious of his accent. His little brother Peter was the only one he could really tell his feelings to-not that he understood what Berwald said, he was just happy to smile and listen. Berwald sighed. Skillet played from his phone in the background. His anger faded as he walked, then he froze, completely still, as he saw a small mitten laying in the snow. Peter’s mitten.  
Berwald’s eyes scanned the area, his heart pounding, until he saw a small hand coming from behind a shrub. Tense with fear he walked to it, and what he saw would haunt his memories forever. His baby brother, paler than death, lying behind that bush. At the moment his phone ironically played “Not Gonna Die.” He dropped to his knees, putting his hands on his baby brother’s cold face. He wiped away the trickle of blood that ran from his mouth. His innocent blue eyes stared lifelessly into the sky as Berwald desperately tried to find a breath, a pulse, a sign of life.  
When he couldn’t, his entire body slouched and he pounded the ground with his fists, throwing back his head as he released a scream that pierced the veil of night and echoed. . .through the rooms of his small apartment as he jolted awake. His breath came in harsh gasps as he sat up in his bed. His intense teal eyes darted around the dark room and his chest heaved as he floundered around for the light switch. He stumbled to the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face. His sweat-soaked tank-top clung to his defined muscles and his hair stuck up wildly. The cold water calmed him down, his pupils receded back to their normal size and his breathing no longer consisted of harsh gasps.  
It had been nine years since the murder of his little brother Peter. There wasn’t a day that he didn’t think about it. It consumed his every waking moment and haunted his dreams. He raked a hand through his short blonde hair. There was no going back to sleep now, so he grabbed some cold Akvavit from the fridge and sat down at the big oak table he’d made with his copy of Inkheart, a favorite book from his childhood. He dozed off within a few hours, where dark dreams haunted his sleep once more.  
The next morning went the same as a every other morning. He showered, got dressed, made coffee, and as he walked out the door he put on his police badge. It hung from a silver chain around his neck, giving him a constant reminder of his life’s goal and ambition, the sole reason he became a detective- to find his brother’s killer and protect others from people like him.  
The bags beneath his eyes were more pronounced and his default glare seemed wearier than usual as he draped his long blue coat over the back of his chair.  
“Hey, Oxenstierna, not much sleep last night?” his partner greeted him as he threw a file on his desk, placing his large hand next to it.  
“Not any more than usual,” Berwald replied, picking up the folder and skimming the first page.  
“I can tell when you’re not telling the whole truth,” the man informed Berwald.  
“Let it go, Kujo,” Berwald replied, looking him straight in the eyes.  
Unfortunately for the blonde man, Jotaro Kujo was one of the few people that wasn’t intimidated by Berwald. He was quite an intimidating man himself, perhaps even more so than Berwald. He was a massive bear of a man, with a personality to match. He stood at 6’5, towering over most people and had a body of bulging solid muscle. He wore a constant scowl, much like Berwald, and often had a cigarette dangling from his lips.  
His looks coupled with Berwald’s earned them the nickname “The I.F. team,” which stood for “Intimidation Force” by the rest of the precinct.  
“So that guy,” Jotaro said, nodding to the file in Berwald’s grip as he ran a hand through his jet-black hair.  
“What’d he do?” Berwald inquired.  
Jotaro let out a snort of laughter. “Caught the guy last night for speeding. Something about him just didn’t feel right, so I ran a background check and found some shady activity in his bank account. He has a couple of off-shore accounts in the names of two legitimate companies. If we can get him for money laundering, there’s no doubt we can get him for other activities too. He was too composed for someone in his situation. There’s always more than what shows on the surface.”  
Berwald let out a grunt of agreement. He studied the man’s mugshot intensely. His sharp red eyes seemed to pierce Berwald’s soul as he looked closer. Berwald adjusted his glasses, unnerved, as as he continued to study the picture. His features were almost as sharp as his eyes, with a seemingly all-knowing smirk seated on his lips. His sharply hooked eyebrows and long blonde hair that formed somewhat of a short mullet only added to his clever yet sinister appearance. Upon closer inspection of the photo, Berwald noticed a peculiar scar around the base of the man’s neck. Berwald glanced at the name below the picture. ‘DIO J. BRANDO’ it read.  
Berwald shook his head. “I don’t like him,” he muttered to Jotaro.  
“Yeah, he’s one creepy bastard,” Jotaro agreed.  
They sat in silence for a few minutes, pouring over the file.  
“Says he works at World Powers University. He’s a professor of law,” Berwald stated.  
Jotaro stood up and grabbed his long black coat from the back of his chair, the large gold chain on the collar clinking as he put it on. “Let's go.”  
They got into a van and soon arrived at the University. They strode to a large set of double doors, which Berwald pushed open. Upon their entrance, approximately 300 heads turned and looked at them in surprise.  
“Mr. Brando, we need t’ speak t’ y’,” Berwald said, the deep rumble of his voice resonating around the room.  
A blonde man stepped out from behind a glass podium.  
A brunette with a build much like Jotaro’s snickered on the side of the fourth aisle as he looked from Dio to Berwald and Jotaro. “Haha, looks like Mr. Brando is-” he yelped as his smug look disappeared when a blonde man with a strange winged headband slapped him upside the head and said fiercely “Shut up, Joseph!” with a strong Italian accent.  
Joseph grumbled and the albino seated in front of him laughed with an odd ‘Kesesese’ sound. The muscular blonde that sat next to him just sighed in annoyance as he raked a hand through his slicked back hair. Mr. Brando shot them a sharp glare and they all quickly stopped their antics and pretended to get back to their work.  
“You are interrupting my class, gentlemen.” Dio said, his smooth voice reaching them easily. “What was of the utmost importance that you felt you needed to interrupt my classes?”  
‘Unless you want your class to hear a list of your faults, I suggest you come talk with us privately,” Jotaro responded.  
Dio raised his eyebrows skeptically as he looked at the two detectives. “Very well.”  
He ascended the stairs of the lecture hall until he stood face to face with Berwald and Jotaro. He looked them straight in the eyes, showing no sign of the usual intimidation, but instead giving off an aire of self-confidence.  
“Detective Kujo, would you happen to be of the Joestar bloodline? You look so much like a man I used to know,” Dio said, smirking wickedly, as if laughing at some inside joke only he knew. “Have you ever taken the time to look closely at the back of your neck, Jotaro?”  
Jotaro bristled, unconsciously moving his feet into a fighting stance. “How do you know my name? And why the hell would I look at the back of my neck? What do you know about me?” he said heatedly, his hand migrating to the holster of his gun.  
Berwald touched his shoulder in warning. There were things this man was hiding, and Berwald didn't want to anger him. He threw Jotaro a look and grasped his forearm to pull him aside.  
“That’s not what we came here t’ talk ‘bout!”  
Jotaro’s intense blue-green eyes were on fire. “He knows things about me! About my family! Did you think if he knows the same things about you? Something’s not right with him.”  
“I know. I’m tryin’ t’ tell y’ that. He’s hidin’ things, he’s dangerous. Let’s wait ‘til we know more ‘bout him.”  
“Yare yare daze,” Jotaro muttered, using a phrase from his native Japanese that he never bothered to drop.  
They turned to Dio. “We’re sorry for interruptin’ y’, Mr. Brando, we just have one more question. Do y’ collaborate with Hamon Electricity?” Berwald asked.  
“Yes, I do.” His ruby eyes sparkled. “Why is that of importance?”  
“Just somethin’ we observed. Thank y’ for your time, Mr. Brando.”  
With that statement Berwald turned on his heel and Jotaro followed suit. Dio smirked, and as the officers walked away they could feel his eyes piercing their backs and filling them with a sense of foreboding.  
When they arrived back at the police station, Berwald’s childhood friend and long time crush ran up to him with an excited countenance.  
“Tino? What ‘re y’ doin’ here?” he said.  
“Berwald! I have something for you! I think I found something about your brother!!” the small blonde chirped as he handed Berwald a sheet of paper with a black and white security camera picture paper clipped to it. The photograph was grainy at best, but it hit Berwald like a brick wall.  
It showed him and Peter at the convenience store about a mile from their house. Peter was beaming as he held three giant lollipops in his little hands. Berwald stood behind him, wearing his signature glare. As he peered closer, he started as he saw one of the men in the background. It was unmistakably, undeniably, most definitely a certain law professor by the name of Dio Brando. He was looking at Peter while shaking hands with the black man he appeared to be talking with.  
“Where did y’ get this?” Berwald bit out through clenched teeth.  
“Eduard,” Tino answered. “We were going through old files of stuff he hacked. I asked if I could take this one. I didn't tell him why.”  
Berwald rose like a dark force from his desk. He whisked his coat from on top of his desk and briskly walked towards the door.  
“Berwald!” Tino yelled, hopping off his chair and running after his friend, but when he caught up, the taller pushed him away with uncharacteristic roughness.  
He stopped, holding Tino by the shoulders. “I don't want y’ t’ get hurt,” he mumbled, looking Tino directly in the eyes. He let Tino go and strode out the door.  
His mind was filled with a renewed sense of purpose. He blasted into the hall where Dio, surprisingly, only had one student. He recognized the student as the one that had attempted to make fun of Dio earlier in his lecture. Both student and teacher looked up as the door flew open with an angry bang.  
Dio turned to his student when he saw who caused the disturbance. “You may be excused, Joseph,” he said. “We’re finished for today.”  
The brunette quickly gathered his materials and shoved them into his backpack before slinging it onto his broad shoulders and thanking his teacher before trotting off.  
Dio regarded Berwald coolly. “Where’s your partner?”  
“I needed t’ speak t’ y’ alone.”  
“Okay,” Dio said simply.  
Berwald produced a photo from his pocket. “Who ’re these people?”  
“I am going to assume you aren't asking me to obtain their identities. Who are those people, Detective Oxenstierna?” Dio said, smirking as he tilted his head and rested it on his knuckles as he tried to gauge how much the Swedish man really knew.  
Berwald set the photograph on the table. He loomed over Dio, gripping the edges of the table as he spoke in a dangerously quiet voice - the metaphorical calm before the storm.  
He pointed to each person in the picture as he spoke about them. “This is me. This, this is m’ baby brother. He was murdered.” He spat the word like it was poison. “He was only eight. Only eight years old.” He pointed again. “And this is y’ makin’ an agreement with a strange man th’ day before m’ brother was killed.”  
Dio rose from his seat to look Berwald directly in the eye. “Don’t ever look down on me, Detective Oxenstierna. You may have a great and noble cause, but that is all your petty human life will ever amount to. I have transcended humanity, Detective!” he proclaimed, his wicked grin pulling back his lips to show vampiric canines.  
“Y’ didn’t answer m’ question,” Berwald said icily.  
Both men were interrupted by the sound of the door opening and the edgy baritone of Jotaro’s voice. “What does the mark mean?”  
“Ah, you looked at your neck,” Dio observed.  
“Yes. What does it mean?” Jotaro repeated.  
Dio grinned, a grin laced with malicious intent. “It means you are of the Joestar bloodline, which provides a threat to my existence.”  
“Why?” Jotaro said, moving his hand subtly to rest on the holster of his gun.  
“You’re treading a dangerous path now, Jotaro.” Dio warned.  
Berwald shot him a warning glance.  
“Tell me.”  
Dio sat down, resting his elbows on the table and templing his fingers in front of him. “107 years ago I first met Jonathan Joestar.” he bagan.  
Berwald and Jotaro exchanged questioning glances at this statement.  
“After my father. . . died, let’s say, Jonathan’s father took me in. Jonathan and I never got along, right from the moment we met. The spoiled brat knew nothing of hardship, of having to fight for a way, having to fight for your life. He was born into wealth and never spared it a thought.” He put a hand on his chest in a display of narcissism. “Jonathan tried to stop my ascension, but now I, Dio, have risen above human status. I have power beyond the human mind. Never again shall anyone look down on me, for I will be viewed as a god! Petty human morals will not stand in my way.”  
The vampire stood up. “Now if you wish to fight me,” he said, noticing both of the detectives had their hands on their holsters. “Please do so if you think you can best me. Otherwise, I have important matters to attend to and I really do loathe being held back.” He turned to speak directly to Jotaro. “If you choose to fight me, I’m warning you- just as the birthmark on your neck ties you to your fate as a Joestar, these marks on my ear tie me to the luck of the devils,’ he informed Jotaro, pointing to three symmetrical moles on the lobe of his left ear.  
Dio then turned to speak with Berwald. “Now Berwald,” he said, letting on that he knew more about him than he originally revealed. Berwald narrowed his eyes in anger and suspicion. “You have no ancestral reason to fight me like your partner does. However, if one dead brother isn’t enough of a reason to fight me, perhaps another one soon to be dead would be enough to persuade you.”  
Berwald clenched his jaw and white-knuckled his pistol.  
Dio grinned cruelly. “Yes, Detective, I have your brother. Mathias, wasn’t it?”  
“You're lyin’,” Berwald growled.  
“No, I’m afraid I’m not. Or rather, you're afraid that I’m not, am I right, Berwald?” Dio said, emphasizing his name.  
He picked up the tablet laying face down on the table and turned the screen to Berwald. It showed footage from a livestream camera of a man with wild blonde hair and brilliant blue eyes handcuffed to a metal chair in a bleak concrete room. He seemed virtually unharmed, save for a small cut on his forehead. He was yelling at an unseen person in high-pitched Danish.  
Berwald pulled his gun from it’s holster and gripped it tightly with both hands, pointing it at the floor.  
“Oh? Touched a nerve now, did I?”  
“So it was you!” Berwald snarled. “You're the bastard that killed Peter!”  
Dio grinned wickedly. “So I was. I’m impressed you figured it out that quickly, Detective. The little brat needed-”  
A gunshot rang out from the pistol Berwald’s hands, which were trembling with concealed rage. “It took me nine years.”  
Dio’s crimson eyes went blank for a moment and his head lolled back, before his eyes refocused and his head rolled back to it’s original position. “Well, that was rude,” he drawled, bringing two fingers up to his forehead to touch the bloody bullet hole.  
He brought the bloodied fingers to his mouth and swiped his tongue around them. Berwald and Jotaro stood in shock as they stared incredulously at the being before them.  
“I never much liked the taste of my own blood, yet it never fails to get me so excited,” the vampire ran his tongue around his lips. “I’m sure I’ll like yours better!” he exclaimed, laughing maniacally as he launched himself at the detectives.  
Jotaro fired several successive shots into Dio’s chest, serving to halt his advance and buy them a few seconds.  
“Jotaro! Start a fire!” Berwald shouted.  
The Japanese man nodded. He could see in Berwald’s intense teal eyes that he was brewing a plan.  
“A fire?” Dio laughed. “You think an insignificant fire can defeat me, Dio?”  
Jotaro had gathered various papers and flammable objects. He looked to Berwald, then pulled out his dolphin shaped lighter and set the pile ablaze. He slipped it back into the pocket of his long black coat as he stood up and took his place next to Berwald.  
The blaze quickly travelled around the room, trapping the three of them in a fiery ring. It truly made Dio look like a monster, a true demon from hell, as they stood amidst the flames.  
Then the fight started. Between the barrage of Jotaro’s well placed punches and kicks and Berwald’s carefully fired bullets, Dio was soon defending himself with his back to the room’s only window. He realized this too late, and before he could distract the detectives with a witty comment or a blow of his own and launch himself into the air, he found Berwald’s foot colliding with the firm muscles of his abdomen. Jotaro’s fist connected solidly with his jaw. The combination of the two moves caused him to fall backwards into the window. He shrieked with an ear-piercing “WRYYYYY!” as the glass shattered beneath his weight and sent him plummeting out of the building.  
In that moment there was nothing Dio could do with all of his inhuman power and incredible strength that he boasted so highly of. He fell, and was impaled through the chest on the silver-tipped sword of the statue of the guardian angel of World Powers University. The blonde vampire howled in agony as he was impaled by the silver sword. He coughed up blood, the movement of his body causing him to slip and be pierced further by stone and silver. Blood flowed from his chest, staining the statue and pooling on the ground below.  
Berwald and Jotaro stood in the window, staring down at the now-deceased vampire.The flames were still encroaching on them, so Berwald got the fire extinguisher from the wall and walked around the room, ending the life of the flames. They both stood in contemplative silence until Berwald pointed out that he needed to find his “idiot brother”. The detectives walked out together before parting ways.  
Their mission was complete.  
They had avenged their families.  
~FIN~


End file.
